i got an advance from a new york publisher to write a book. it was a dream come true, and in mexico city, by november of 1997, i crossed the deadline, and i didn't have a word written, and i was broke. i called the only friend that i could count on at that point because my lifestyle had led me to destroy my personal relationships. i called a performance artist from costa rica who lived in the united states for years, met through the solidarity networks, arts and politics back in the 1980s, and i said, she happened to be leaving in the village of joshua tree, california, at that particular time. there's a set of circumstances that led her to, you know, who's from -- from the tropics of central america, you know, how did she wind up in the desert? everybody has a story out in the desert of how they got there. she said, we'll take care of you, give you a place to live, and shortly this afternoon, i arrive in the desert, and one of the first things that i saw when i rented any little shack out in the sand next to a sign that said "next service 100